[Big Boi] Yeah.. ATLiens style on y’all ass
[K. Mike] DO OR DIE, AQUEMINI
[K. Mike] Killer Mike, Roc-A-Fella collaboration – holla!
[Y. Hova] Young Hov’ in the place to be
[Y. Hova] Big Boi in the place to be (Young)
[Y. Hova] Andre 3000 (cash) shout out to public housin (b—h)
[Y. Hova] I brought (holla) the whole hood with me
[Big Boi] You got red dirt in your afro
[Y. Hova] Young Hov’ in the place to be (yeah)
[Y. Hova] OutKast in the place to be (yeah)Continue reading →

[Killer Mike:]
I move with the elegance of an African elephant
I presented the evidence eloquent as the president
Evident is the emphasis, I deserve me a championship
But before I banana clip I’ma chill so my man can rip

[El-P:]
Little man against Hellion with the heart of an orphan
I got the words of a murderer and an eye for distortion
You take a slice of my portion, I’ll take a piece of your profit
I drive at illegal speeds, Keep an O.Z in my pocketContinue reading →

The manuscript Blue Lines is the fictional coming of age narrative of a young California woman Key Yemaya Walker, and her 2 year growing journey through school, love, and life period piece, written by Kenneth Suffern, Jr., taking place at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill between the years of 1997 – 1998. Loosely based on true events, and experiences during that time, told through the eyes and voice of the main female protagonist, a freshman first attending the school.

[Verse 1 – Killer Mike:]
I walk in
Ric Flair’in’, long fur coat wearin’
Rolex rockin’, silk shirt wearin’
Silk socks, and b—s need to breathe
So b—h the draws cotton cause you gon’ suck me when you leave
In a big Benzo on Lorenzos
With your homegirl LaQuinta who said she never did but she would try it
And as she higher than the f–kin’ Hyatt
She jet settin’, Moët’n, the God blesses
Against him prospers no weapon, champaignin’
Campaignin’, gator shoes high steppin’
My dopey eyes just hide behind my Dita frames
I heard this n—a say he don’t like me, well he the lame

[Hook – Sarah Barthel:]
It’s not your fault baby
We were just here born to shineContinue reading →

[Zack De La Rocha:]
Run them jewels fast, run them, run them jewels fast
Run them, run them, r-run them, run them, f–k the slow mo

[Killer Mike (El-P):]
Fashion slave, you protestin’ to get in a f–kin’ look book
Everything I scribble’s like The Anarchist Cookbook
(Look good, posing in a centerfold of Crook Book)
Black on black on black with a ski mask, that is my crook look
How you like my stylin’, bruh? Ain’t nobody stylin’, bruh
‘Bout to turn this mothaf–ka up like Riker’s Island, bruh
Where my thuggers and my cripples and my bloodles and my brothers?
When you n—-s gon’ unite and kill the police, mothaf–kas?
Or take over a jail, give those COs hell
The burnin’ of the sulfur, God damn I love the smell
Like it’s a pillow torchin’, where the f–k the warden?
And when you find him, we don’t kill him, we just waterboard him
We killin’ ’em for freedom cause they tortured us for boredom
And even if some good ones die, f–k it, the Lord’ll sort ’emContinue reading →